February 12, 2025

FILMHOUNDS Magazine

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Snow, Isolation and Individualism: A Cinematic Journey Through Misanthropy in About Dry Grasses

A still for About Dry Grasses

Memento Distribution

‘Epic’ puts it lightly. Turkish auteur Nuri Bilge Ceylan’s latest film About Dry Grasses is a 197-minute exploration into misanthropy and individualism that’s well worth a look. Following a similar playbook to last year’s The Teacher’s Lounge, 2008’s The Class or even Dead Poets’ Society, the film is set in a school and uses this setting as a microcosm for wider society. This particular school is in eastern Anatolia, a perpetually snowy hinterland that would give Kubrick’s Overlook Hotel a run for its money in terms of chilly isolation.

Moments in, we’re introduced to teacher Samet (Deniz Celiloğlu) trudging through the snow en route to class. An art teacher finishing up his fourth year at this starkly remote outpost, Samet is disillusioned by everything, particularly his insufferably dull classes and thankless students. His life is moderately brightened by Sevim (Ece Bağci), an eighth grader he takes a paternal shine to. The two interact like peers, engaging in softly spoken convivial chats in his office between lessons, and whilst nothing about their relationship ever feels inappropriate (more in the realm of mutual respect), this only makes it more perplexing when Samet and fellow teacher Kenan become the object of misconduct accusations by Sevim and another student.

These accusations serve as a catalyst to propel this intricate and intriguing narrative forward. What’s dealt with particularly effectively is the degree to which Samet transforms once the accusations are made. There is no rapid-fire descent into distress but a mortified defensiveness. The vagueness of the allegations is palpably unhelpful for the men’s interpretation of it, and consequently, Samet fails to be professional, resorting to anger and taking his frustration out on the students. There’s a subtle suggestion that our current levels of discourse around such subjects can amplify the furore around them rather than alleviate, and that our tools available for discussing such matters might not be fit for purpose.

Early in the film, he meets Nuray, another local teacher, and though at first, little about her sparks his interest, this is par for the course for a protagonist disinterested in anyone. In lesser hands, the sardonic and strong-willed Nuray would enter Manic Pixie Dream Girl territory, but in Ceylan’s, she’s the perfect antagonist-slash-love-interest. There’s a particular dramatic edge to their exchanges, especially one detailed dinner scene where the two spar over socialism, Samet offering a cynical defence of isolationism, whereas to Nuray, this is anathema to her entire raison d’être – the desire to pitch in and help her fellow man. (It’s ultimately revealed she’s lost a limb due to her activism, a sacrifice it’s almost impossible to imagine Samet ever making in defence of his slimly-held beliefs.) “Can this wretched world be helped? That’s the only question,” Nuray asks, though it appears this is a question over which Samet has already made his mind up.

It’s an eternal debate that flares up throughout About Dry Grasses, so coating every scene in a wintry backdrop is an apt choice. Again, like Kubrick’s The Shining, the pathetic fallacy of the endlessly white-stricken landscapes highlights the isolation but also reflects the unmoving status of Samet’s life and the disillusionment he feels at the ceaseless mundanity of the cards he’s dealt himself through his own actions and sullenness. Ultimately, the film’s title winds up having multiple meanings. For much of the film, the grass being referred to is rarely dry at all — in fact, it’s rarely seen, concealed endlessly beneath several layers of thick snow. By the time it thaws out at the film’s finale, the symbolism feels obvious. The need for Samet to “thaw out” similarly and accept the need to reach out is made clear.

Although it doesn’t mention it, this is a plot that often feels firmly embedded in the post-pandemic landscape. The return to normality – of snow thawing – that we’ve all determinedly yearned for and pursued at hyperspeed once the perils of 2020 were relaxed, still haunts us. This is highlighted with one moment of uncharacteristic metafiction, when the scene changes and Samet removes himself from the setting and steps beyond the fourth wall. A soundstage materialises and a film set is revealed. In reminding us of the film’s fictitiousness in such an outright fashion, Ceylan transfers Samet’s attitudes back onto us. Perhaps performances are all we have in the post-pandemic world, a world that looks decidedly different to the one we dwelt in a decade ago, a decade that underlined the need for us to come together rather than rip apart?

Ultimately, a disillusionment has solidified, and contrary to having a new lease on life, there’s widespread fatigue and disenchantment. Are we truly engaging with the world, or like Samet, just watching it pass us by and ignoring it? Are we draping snow drifts across everything in the hope our ignorance will take care of it, and failing to engage with the dry grass underneath?

A point about the runtime. This tends to be something film critics obsess over lately. And with good reason – movies are pretty damn long. Over the last decade alone, the average length of a film has increased by nineteen minutes. Audiences might be willing to sit through gargantuan runtimes for films they know garner awards and acclaim, but even for cinematic maestros like Scorsese, did Killers of the Flower Moon really need three and a half hours to tell its tale? With attention spans waning amongst the general populace, this move seems like an act of defiance by directors, eager to insert an act of stubbornness into the discourse. So your brain’s frazzled to a crisp by thirty-second-long TikTok snippets? Here’s two hundred minutes in a dark room, see how your whittled-down attention span copes with that.

Long runtimes work  if the story warrants it but there’s something to be said for brevity, and the old scribe’s adage “kill your darlings,” which exists for a reason. Escalating film lengths don’t always indicate artistic prowess but an editor who failed to be ruthless, denying the cutting room floor of a single reel, insisting the film’s every iota, scene and scrap of dialogue is essential. About Dry Grasses is telling a story that is impactful but small at its heart, and whilst its epic near-two-hundred-minute runtime often feels warranted (this film is a colossus and deserves time to unveil its findings), it’s a worry that one glimpse at that “197 minute” figure is likely to alienate audiences who might be more intrigued by a shorter piece.

About Dry Grasses possesses a storyline that’s inherently accessible and brilliantly executed by a master of the craft. My concern is in reality, a 3.5 hour film will always be a tough sell outside of arthouse circles. It seems a pity since the film is so impressive, and much ought to be made of it if enough people see it, and it would be a shame for viewers to miss out because of a somewhat estranging length. It’s a film that calls out for us to engage with each other, to not get bogged down in petty squabbles and selfishness. For a world increasingly keen on listening to divisive voices, this is as important a message as any.

About Dry Grasses is in cinemas from July 26th.